


As the Petals Scattered

by masamune11



Category: K (Anime), Samurai Warriors
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Reincarnation, Spoilers on Samurai Warriors 4 Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Reishi would dream of a life that was not his own.</p><p>Sometimes Mikoto would feel as if he was not himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Petals Scattered

**Author's Note:**

> My favourite hobby is to write crossover fics between two obscure fandoms (when you've seen the number of works on SW in this site, you will understand why I'm screaming frustration). I'm sorry.
> 
> Unbeta'ed until further notice.
> 
> FYI I was about to roll this idea as a SaruRei Genfic but then Saru is more like Ishida Mitsunari then Sanada Yukimura, so I went with something weeny bit worse.

Sometimes Reishi would dream of a life that was not his own.

There, he was a man dressed in traditional robes befitting a royalty, though not so regal that others would refer him as ‘the High Lord’. Somewhere within his self, he knew that title went to someone else—someone who had the strong backbone to support the country he loved and maintain the peace they lived in; someone who had the determination, as well as charisma, to bring a land of peace. He was only one of the pillar which supported that man’s reign, another vassal of the High Lord to maintain peace and order, especially the one entrusted to him. He was his clan’s—family’s—leader ( _like how he was the second Blue King_ ), and he _could never have any recrimination against him saved for_ one _eventuality_.

Whenever his dream self tried to remember what that unfortunate event was, the dream stopped and left himself awake within his dark room with cold sweat and ragged breath. 

Sometimes, Reishi would be able to recall the finer things in his dream aside of his position: he had a brother who would rush into things with honour and glory in mind, he detested injustice as much his younger brother did, he had a loving wife who was also the adopted daughter of the High Lord, and he liked how the petals of cherry blossoms blooming on _their_ favourite spot danced in the wind, how his brother would take two quick steps afterwards before thrusting his spear so predictably that he couldn’t help but smile—

—but Reishi would never be able to remember the name of that man—the brother of his dream self—despite all the warmth, pain, love, and honour that the man brought with him, all burdened on his firm shoulder. His memory would shut down whenever that name almost rolled out, leaving him only in remembrance of those beautiful flowers he was able to make _bloom_  before his life ended. Left in failure to remember his brother’s name, he would then proceed to drink a strong liquor in order to calm himself or, if the cherry blossoms were in bloom, drive his team to have an early _hanami_ tea ceremony just to _alleviate that nostalgic feelings_.

It never cleared his mind of that _yearning_ , but Reishi knew better to complain; nobody would understand such unique sensation.

* * *

Some times he looked at Mikoto Suoh and wondered if he was the last puzzle piece to that unrelated dream of his.

There was always a sense of familiarity that came back to him whenever their aura clashed. A hit with his knuckle, then Reishi would see a silhouette of gold and red. A brash kick aimed at his lower navel only to be deflected by the back of his blade, and then he would be reminded of _that man’s shadow_  and a single cross-spear. A fire burst ferocious enough to burn him to crisp, and Reishi would see _a flash of smile, that brown hair shining under the sun, that six-coins hachimaki on his forehead—_ all that, and yet Reishi _remembered_ **_nothing_** _about_ _his_ **_name_** _._

The illusion left as quickly as it came when he saw his slouched posture, those amber eyes glinting dangerously with power and bloodlust ( _they weren’t honour-justice-love_ ) despite his apathy. Then Mikoto did something beyond his prediction: the man slowly toned down his red aura until it disappeared completely, before he turned away, as if the lion of violence _(not the tiger of kai, that’s someone else)_ lost his appetite for reasons unknown. He could not help but feel intrigued, the point of _Tenrō_  slowly being let down to fave the ground as its owner’s watched the Red King’s retreating back. _What is he planning_?

“Finished already?” he remarked. Another person would have reprimanded him for his callousness, but Mikoto Suoh was never an ordinary person ever since that red sword dangled over his head. “I think you haven’t had enough."

And Reishi _somehow_ knew that _it will never be enough for_ Mikoto. In the coming days, he will look at him again as the Red King beat up those who messed with his clan then returned to his nap once the dust settled—returning, only because there was no more blood for him to be rightfully shed. 

(Maybe that was it; maybe the reason why the man chose not to continue their fight was because _Reishi was never among that twisted list of his_.)

Mikoto stopped on his track and suddenly looked up to the sky, as if searching for something to greet and whisk him away. When that red-hair turned, amber eyes glancing at him with hints of deep melancholy and _Reishi swore that those eyes were as brown as this turbulent land, that hair was as deep as hazel in the coming of spring, and that crimson hachimaki billowed in the wind—all those were reminders that he, the brother who died valiantly, was here, and his name was Yuki—_

“That’s where you’re wrong, Munakata. This,” his arms extended outwards, brown returning to amber, and they were, once again, valiant Kings of their proud clans, “to be able to show to you my _pride_  as you strive to keep everything together— _this_ is enough."

He never got to have the last words, not when the man had already turned his back again, even as he called upon him again. Mikoto simply did not bother and remained walking away.

The words that he left the Blue King hanged in the eerie stillness that Reishi was averse to break, though Tenrō made some noises as he unconsciously slid it back into his scabbard. For a single awkward moment, his thumb sought for a small button somewhere in its hilt, only to remember that his sword had no such thing—that it was never a blade which concealed another within its hilt—

Reishi let out a choked gasp, his mind again and again chanted that _he was Reishi Munakata, the head of SCEPTER 4 and current leader of Blue Clan_. Yet the cherry blossom smelled so sweet, the stench of sorrow overwhelmed his beating heart despite all the closure he was given oh-so-long ago, and there was nothing that Reishi could do except for taking deep, _deep_ breaths to calm himself. As he finally calmed down ( _that feeling subsided, that smell going away, and that brown-haired man being_ gone), Reishi took another breath with a final word to himself:

“I am Reishi Munakata."

* * *

When he dreamt again, he was standing before a wall of mirrors. He had expected to see violet eyes staring back at him, only to realize _that those eyes were gray, that hair was silver, and those red-black attire decorated with six coins was never much part of his wardrobe he ever had in mind_.

His dream self.

His reflection smiled at him comfortingly, as if what he was about to say would shatter everything he knew.

“But you were also a Sanada, remember?"

He did not. Remember, that is.

( _Even if he did, Reishi would never acknowledge it. The mere idea that he was not himself was unacceptable._ )

* * *

It never took them too much time to cross path again, though Reishi personally preferred to avoid confrontation if possible. Mikoto seemed to disagree, of course, especially when HOMRA was in the middle of a raid on Shizume’s famous drug-dealing base; interfering with their fun would have been foolish for him, but SCEPTER 4 still had to play damage control. The whole situation eventually led them inside an abandoned car-park building, Mikoto’s fire bursting in dissonance against his steady shield as he tried to burn him _alive_.

There was something different in the way Mikoto laid his hit. It showed on the creases of his forehead, his almost unfocused gaze when their attacks collided, and the way his fire _frantically burned_ _as if its owner was grasping for a control he had_ _before_ _they had arrived in this dire situation._

Another blow was exchanged, which followed to another and another, the force behind their hit balancing despite their will to overpower each other _._ Blue and red mingled in chaos while Reishi’s form remained unyielding even under Mikoto's constant overbearing pressure, until that _red_ _hachimaki_ _appeared, the stench of_ _battlefield_ _overwhelmen_   _his_ _senses_ _, and brown eyes_ _shone_ _instead of_ _amber _—__ _  
_

_—an_ _opening_ _to strike at_ Mikoto's _heart—_

—and Reishi found himself taking that chance with a quick stab straight at that man's heart. But Mikoto's eyes flickered with something akin to glee, as though he had anticipated Reishi's choice then even before their battle started. The red-haired man easily made a narrow sidestep to avoid Reishi's attempt as he harshly disarmed the Blue King with a single harsh hit on his grip, Tenrō falling to the ground in split of second. Before Reishi had the chance to pick it back, Mikoto had already kicked it away, his hand, burning vigorously with red aura, pointed at his neck as of trying to sever.

It took Reishi three seconds to realise that he'd been had.

Mikoto's amber eyes curiously scrutinised him, before he finally commented, "you're off from your game, Munakata."

Reishi could say nothing about that, not when that red hachimaki lingered, not when what he saw was red and golden, not when he kept on remembering of a dead clan that belonged not to him, of a brother he was not sibling of. "...I suppose so. I apologise if it hinders your satisfaction, in any manner," he retorted calmly and fixed his glass. He would have to play it cool for the moment, if only to alleviate the growing tension thick in the air.

Reishi was used to Mikoto’s silence, but this one... in this moment when his brows knitted together in thought and the lines on his forehead wrinkled, the Blue King eventually understood that this was not his usual silence. His silence continued, even when the Red King decided to let down his hand, red eyes suddenly being filled with forlorn dejection, as he replied, "your brother's already gone, Nobuyuki. There's no more reason for you to linger."

The words zapped him like a thunderstorm, razing his awareness oh-so-vehemently that he shivered on his place. Surprise, however, was quickly replace by rage that, surprisingly, never belonged to him. "You can not know that."

"But that's the thing see," again, Mikoto surprised him with a quiet reproach. The edge of red hachimaki billowing in the wind was beginning to drown his sense, the sweet smell of cherry blossom dancing in the wind; somewhere in his heart, Reishi was breaking, as though he had already known what will be said afterwards. "I was Yukimura Sanada, but no longer."

**Author's Note:**

> You can watch the whole SW4 compiled feels [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZ2Bts9qZUU).


End file.
